


Not a Place But a Feeling

by glim



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Coughing, Domestic Fluff, Fever, Illnesses, Injury Recovery, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Sick Steve Rogers, Sickfic, Sneezing, Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 03:33:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10296536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: This what being home feels like.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A sort-of sequel to [Home is a Memory](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10084019). 
> 
> Also written for the prompt "Caring for the other when sick."

"Hey... Steve, hey..." 

Steve blinks, then walks the three strides it takes him to catch up with Natasha. She narrow her eyes at him, then rests a hand on his arm to make sure he doesn't walk past her. 

"Hey," she says again. "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing." Steve glances down at Natasha, but keeps walking. 

"That's not your 'nothing' face. I know when you're doing the staring off into space but actually thinking thing." 

"I could be thinking." 

Natasha makes a sharp, skeptical sound and gives him another close look. "You look wiped out."

"Yeah, a little. Maybe. It's fine," he says, and lifts his chin. "Let's keep going." 

They've already scoped out two and cleaned up one safehouse in the DC suburbs, only one more to go. He can feel the exhaustion creeping in already, and even though it's two in the afternoon, if he could, Steve would call it a day. 

There's a little twinge, he wouldn't even call it pain or soreness, in his side and stomach where the scars from the gunshot wounds are still visible. Steve rests his hand against his side, over his tee shirt, for a second and breathes in and out carefully. 

It's not only that, though, because the lingering discomfort that sometimes turns to soreness when he's overtired, he's been living with that for the past week or so. Only when he's really, really tired, though, Steve thinks, attempting to convince himself that he'll be able to sleep this off, too. 

Except there's that scratchy, dry feeling at the back of his throat, and his eyes are getting that gritty, tired sort of feeling that never seems indicate that all he needs is a few more hours of sleep. 

He definitely needs a few more hours of sleep, though. Steve rubs his eyes and tries to clear the fog from his head. 

"Okay. We're going back to the car." Natasha grabs Steve's arm this time and redirects them to turn left instead of walking straight.

"What? Why... we're almost done." 

"Because you're actually done. Look at you, you can hardly walk," she says, but smiles when he stumbles after another tug on his arm. "What's up?"

Steve shrugs. "Just tired." 

"Look, I'm tired. I've slept maybe a collective twelve hours over the past four nights. I've put my faith in coffee and adrenaline, and I'm doing okay. You're... not." 

Steve draws in a breath to sigh, but it catches and he ends up sneezing. The incipient sore throat, runny nose kind of sneeze, the sort he can't hold back and can barely muffle into the sleeve of his jacket. 

"Steve..." 

"Nat, no. It's nothing."

" _Steve_ ," Natasha says again, and rests her hand on his back as they turn left again around the block on walk back to the car. "You're getting sick." 

"I'm not getting sick," he says, and his voice is already betraying him by sounding creaky. 

"Okay. I'm driving you home anyway, though." 

Steve knows he should protest, and that he should insist they finish up the job. It's one more place they need to make sure is clean and off the grid. The twinge is back in his stomach muscles, though, and his shoulders are starting to get that achy, tired feeling. There's more coughing on the walk back to the car, and he sniffles enough times that Natasha not only hands him a bottle of water, but also directs him to the tissues in the glove compartment. 

"I'm fine." 

"I know. There's tissues, though." She pats him on the knee, and starts the car. "I was going to ask, how does that work, anyway, you getting sick. But I guess the answer is 'all at once,' yeah?" 

"Yeah, pretty much, and only rarely." Steve lets out a sigh of resignation and leans back against the headrest. "I'll sleep it off tonight." 

"Good." Natasha leaves Steve to his water and tissues, and lets him doze off for most of the drive. 

He starts when she wakes him up, and Natasha shakes her head at how it takes him a few bleary seconds to realize where they are. 

"Text me later and let me know how you're doing. Wait, no, I'll text you. I'll text _Sam_ ," Natasha corrects herself. "Feel better, though, okay? Get that sleep," she says in a softer voice and hugs him quick and light around the shoulders.

"I will. I'm good," Steve says. He gathers up the empty water bottle and few used tissues, trying not to look embarrassed about the display. 

Steve manages a smile and a wave after he gets out of the car, and even waits until Natasha drives away before turning to go inside. He hesitates a moment, wonders on the off-chance if Sam's home from work early, and can't tell if it's hope or anxiety he feels at the prospect. Fumbling his keys out of his pocket takes a few seconds longer than usual, and he has to blink down at them to figure out the one he needs to get inside. 

"Hey... Sam?" He says, coughs, and lets out a tired sound as he slumps in the doorway. He didn't expect a reply, but part of Steve can't help but wish that he'd been wrong.

The quiet and stillness inside the apartment is a familiar one; there's a few dishes in the sink from breakfast, a half-folded blanket on the sofa where Sam dozed off waiting for Steve last night, folded laundry in a basket next to the bed. 

Steve lets out the sigh he'd been holding back and instead of relieved or disappointed, it comes out low and tired. He scrubs the heels of his hands into his eyes and weighs the pros and cons of falling asleep on the sofa. 

Actually, he should shower first, if only to help clear the foggy, congested feeling that's brewing in his head. No Sam means he can grab a shower and drop down onto the sofa or bed without having to answer any questions about why he feels so exhausted. He might even be able to sleep off most of whatever's making him feel under the weather today, and wake up tomorrow morning with nothing more than a stuffy nose. The few times he's picked up a cold since the serum have worked that way: a rush of cold symptoms, intense for a couple days, then a quick recovery. Steve's even pretty sure nobody else really noticed the first few times, but, then, there wasn't really anyone else around to notice. 

Now there's Sam in his life, but no Sam at home that afternoon means... well, no Sam. He's hardly seen his boyfriend this past week, and now that he's not feeling good, Steve discovers that what he really wants is Sam at home with him even if doesn't want Sam to make any kind of fuss over him. 

Actually, that's not true. Some fussing wouldn't be that bad. The sort that means he's not alone and that means he doesn't have to do everything for himself when he's not feeling well. 

And he definitely is starting to not feel well. Sore throat, headache, kind of achey and exhausted... It's probably only the start of cold, but his colds always seem to come at him in such a quick, fierce manner. The cough and runny nose he developed on the drive home was intense enough already to convince Steve that he's more of a mess than he wants to admit. He's coughing again as he walks through the apartment to strip off his clothes and find something to drink, and even though he's by himself, he still feels embarrassed when he shivers and sneezes twice in a row after pulling off his shirt. He sniffles against the back of his hand, and keeps sniffling until he's in the bathroom where the tissues are. 

Steve considers texting Sam to find out when he'll be home and rubs the back of his neck. The number of years that have passed since he's had to negotiate how much attention he wants or needs when he's sick is more than Steve wants to think about. It doesn't feel that long for him; sometimes it only feels like a few years since when there'd last been a person he'd want to give him that kind of attention. Bucky, then Peggy... 

No, no, he's not going to think about them now. He's already tired and sick, and sad's not going to make it better. 

He used to hate it; he used to hate anyone noticing and coddling him for any of the number of health problems he grew up with. 

He could probably hate it a little less now, with Sam, who wouldn't coddle him and who wouldn't make him feel like there's anything weak or wrong about him. 

That thought makes Steve shake his head and try to the rub the soreness from his neck and shoulders again. He's already in the process of getting sick, he's completely worn out, and now he's starting to think a little too deeply about wanting his boyfriend to come home and give him orange juice and tissues. 

One very long, very hot shower later, Steve finally allows himself to send Sam a text ('home early, not feeling great'), drinks down a bottle of water, and dozes off on the sofa in clean sweats. He wakes up long enough to check his phone when it buzzes, smiles at the reply he gets ('get some rest and i'll see you at 5'), and falls fully asleep before he can text back.

 

* * *

 

A touch to his hair, then his shoulder, and Sam says something to Steve the he can't quite make out through the fog of sleep and congestion. He tries to go back to sleep, but the hand on his shoulder gets more insistent, and then the voice talking to him gets louder and closer.

"... what?" Steve's voice comes out stuffy and hoarse, and he buries his face back in the pillow on the sofa. "M'fine."

"Yeah, sure." Sam's hand nudges his shoulder again, then skims over his back when he coughs. "Can you wake up for me? You might be more comfortable in bed." 

Steve shakes his head, though he suspects Sam is right. His head hurts and his throat really, _really hurts_ , and when he lifts his head up from the pillow, he can tell he's a hundred percent more congested than he was when he first came home. He coughs, clears his throat, and then coughs again and blinks at Sam. 

"Oh. You're home." He coughs again, and winces when it scrapes his throat. God, was it that bad when he fell asleep? Steve doesn't think so, but he can't remember yet. "Just now?"

"I'm home, and yeah, a few minutes ago. It looks like you got home about six hours before you were supposed to be. What happened? You look awful." Sam gives Steve's back another rub, moving in a warm, steady circle, and he drops into a crouch in front of the sofa when Steve looks at him blearily. "Did something happen? Did somebody-- did anybody even--"

"--no." Steve stops Sam's train of thought before it can go any further. "I think I'm getting kind of sick..." 

The tension that Sam holds in his shoulders lessens visibly and he leans forward to press a kiss to Steve's forehead. He considers Steve for a few more moments as he comes more awake, and presses his lips to his forehead once more. "Hm. You're warm... you feel feverish?"

"I don't think so?"

"I think so," Sam says. "Sit up, and I'll check your temp." 

"Sam, no. It's fine." Steve turns to rub his nose against his shoulder, and gives a snuffle when he can't get at the itchy, stuffy feeling at the back. 

"You don't even have enough of a voice left to make these decisions." 

Steve wants to protest that, but Sam stands up before he can get his voice to work the right way. Arms crossed over his chest, Sam watches him as he does more coughing and clearing his throat than talking, and helps him sit up against the sofa cushions. Steve nods his gratitude when Sam pats him on the shoulder, and gives his nose another rub against the back of his wrist. Sitting up shifts the congestion in his head the right amount to launch him into a pair of sudden, strong sneezes. His throat burns and his eyes water, and Steve's pretty sure that now he's really and truly started, he's not going to be able to stop himself from coughing and sneezing the rest of the evening. 

Those sneezes brought the twinge back to his stomach muscles, too, and Steve holds his hand over the scars when he feels his nose tickle again. He's able to hold that one back, though it makes him cough a few times in a row. 

"Bless you..." Sam calls out from the bathroom, walks back to the living room, takes one look at Steve, and then walks back and returns this time with a box of tissues. "I think you need these." 

"Thanks... Sorry, I'm, um..." Steve sniffles, and keep sniffling until he can pull a handful of tissues from the box. He buries his face in them, hiding the flush of shy gratitude he can feel warming his face, and blows his nose before he looks back up at Sam. "Thanks," he says again, his voice a little clearer this time. 

"You're welcome. You ready?" Sam offers him the thermometer, then _tsk_ s at Steve when he frowns and pulls away from it. "Seriously?" 

"You don't need to... just give me some aspirin." Steve cringes at the look on Sam's face, but draws back anyway. "If you're really worried I have a fever." 

"First of all, we don't have any aspirin. Second, I can't tell if you have a fever, or when your fever goes up or down, if I don't take it in the first place, so..." 

Steve balks at the thermometer again. It reminds him a little too much of the numerous times he sat at his mom's kitchen table, his mouth awkward and painful around the glass thermometer, his chest threatening to catch with a cough or wheezing breath before the time was up. Thermometer's are different now, he knows, he's already had that experience. 

He thinks of the last bout of flu, too, and what then had seemed like an endless progression of monitors and tests and checks to see if his fever had risen or broken. The fever had been the worst part of being sick, the chills and fever dreams, the sensation that he'd never be warm again. Memories of the cold hospital room come upon him suddenly, too, and Steve shivers before he can stop himself. He huddles in himself before he can stop the reaction, and shivers again before the feeling passes.

The chills seems to make Sam relent a little, and he sits down next to Steve on the sofa. "What's wrong?" He puts the thermometer aside and rubs Steve's arm warmly. "Are you starting to feel really bad?"

"No, it's... it's nothing. I feel a little cold..." Steve relaxes, but doesn't move away from Sam's touch, and even leans in a little closer to rest his head against Sam. 

"Okay," Sam says, and he rubs Steve's back when he shivers again. "We'll get you warmed up soon enough. Ready? It's not that bad." He hugs Steve, waits for him to lift his head from Sam's shoulder, and reaches for the thermometer again. "Open your mouth." 

Steve nods, resigned, because Sam's rubbing his back and talking to him in the patient, even tone that brooks no refusal. When the thermometer gets lodged under his tongue, Steve swallows painfully and quickly scrubs one of the tissues under his nose.

The whole time he has the thermometer in his mouth, Steve glares at Sam. Or, well, he hopes it looks like he's glaring, because glaring is better than what he's really doing, which is working to keep himself from coughing. Or sniffling. Or reaching up to rub at his eyes where they're starting to get that distinct itchy, watery feeling. 

Sam watches him with this look on his face that tells Steve he's not even fooled, not for a second, and he even nods in confirmation when the thermometer beeps and he pulls it from Steve's mouth. 

"Yeah," he says, "you're pretty sick." 

"I'm not--" Steve starts, then holds a fist up to his face and turns aside to cough. And keep coughing, obviously making up for the whole minute he had to hold it back. Steve sighs when he's done and rubs his hand down over his chest and stomach. "I'm not _pretty_ sick. I probably have... I don't know. A cold. A bad headcold?" 

"Probably. But you're still sick. You have a fever and what sounds like a whole lot of other stuff going on." Sam gives Steve another careful look, then puts the thermometer aside before rubbing his back again. "You didn't tell me that you didn't feel good this morning." 

"I felt fine this morning." The words feel and sound ridiculous as he uses a tissue to swipe as his nose and eyes, and Steve braces himself for his body to betray him with another coughing fit or rush of sneezes. When it doesn't happen, he droops with relief and swipes at his nose again. "Tired, but not like this." 

"Yeah?" Sam frowns, but there's something else in his expression, not doubt or uncertainty. He almost looks hurt as he slides his hand from Steve's back to rest in his own lap. "You're running a fever of almost a hundred and you're pretty much a mess now, but you felt okay this morning?" 

Steve gives in to the urge to rub his hands over his face, scrubbing the heel of one hand into his left eye. The fact that he doesn't feel like explaining how his immune system works to Sam is probably a better indication than anything else that he's come down with some cold or flu-like thing over the course of the day. 

But that's not fair to Sam, who's currently still sitting next to Steve, and who reaches back over to rub Steve's back and shoulders when he coughs again and groans. "Your throat hurts?" Sam asks, careful and quiet, and even massages the back of Steve's neck a little when he nods. "And you keep coughing and sneezing."

"Sore throat, headache, everything's getting stuffed up... I feel sort of terrible all over," Steve admits. "But I did feel fine this morning, I promise. And around noon, when you texted me from work, though I think I was getting run down around then." 

"You've been run down all week, Steve. You're still a person, you remember that, right?" Sam draws back to look at Steve, his hand slipping to rest on Steve's shoulder. When Steve nods, he reaches up and strokes the back of his hand against Steve's cheek. "Who needs to sleep for more than a couple hours a night." 

"I know... It's been a bad week." The touch against his cheek is too much for Steve to resist; he turns his face into Sam's hand, holding back the urge to cough or sniffle, and closes his eyes for a few seconds. "I've been missing you, too."

Sam brushes his thumb over Steve's lower lip and does it again when Steve makes a small, sniffly sound of appreciation. "That feeling's mutual." 

After a minute or so, he does have to tug himself away from Sam to swipe at his nose again, then bury it in his crumpled tissues for another round of sneezes. The first one's not so bad, but they get progressively stronger. Each one hurts his throat and his head, just like before, but this time when he sneezes, he feels his stomach muscles tense painfully. 

"What's wrong?" 

Steve presses his hand over his abdomen where, a few weeks ago, he had a serious enough bullet wound to land him in the hospital for a few days. He gives an experimental cough to make sure that's what's making the pain flare up, then regrets it when his stomach muscles tense against the cough. 

"Still hurts?" Sam asks. He rests his own hand over Steve's and holds it there, warm and secure and protective. "You've been doing too much lately. It hasn't been that long, even for you..." 

"I know, I'm sorry." 

"For what?"

"I don't know. I feel like I should apologize to you..." 

"For what?" Sam repeats, and adds, "For doing the job you signed up for?" Sam cups Steve's face in his hand, and even though he's already taken his temperature, he presses his palm to Steve's cheek, then to his forehead. "You can apologize for not telling me when you started feeling bad, but don't start apologize for getting sick or for feeling sore."

"I'm still feel like-- alright," he says when Sam preempts his apology, glancing away from Sam for a second. "I won't apologize for that." 

"That's better. But let me know next time. You think I don't worry about you?"

'I know you do... I forget what it's like, sometimes, to have somebody..." A degree of shyness comes over Steve, and he droops back against the sofa cushions. "I didn't want to bother you. You had that talk to give after lunch, and it was only a scratchy throat then, and once everything else, the runny nose and cough and everything else started, I wanted to come home and sleep." 

Sam leans back against the cushions with Steve, and slides his arm around Steve's shoulders to urge him closer. "So that's when it started? After noon?"

Steve shrugs. He can't really remember when the ache in his head became more than a nuisance, or when his throat stopped itching and started hurting in earnest. "Probably? I was good for most of the morning, and the start of the afternoon, then it was like... like everything hit me all at once. One minute my throat was itchy, and then I was coughing and sneezing and my nose was running. Natasha brought me come home early." 

"Forcibly, I'm sure." 

Laughing makes Steve cough, and coughing makes his nose run anew, so he sniffles strongly and quickly rubs his nose against the cuff of his shirt sleeve. "Yeah, she was pretty insistent. I'm not sure I can blame her after having spent a few hours watching me... get like this." 

The shyness creeps on Steve again and he pretty much can picture what he must look like, with the way his eyes and nose are already irritated, and how he's apparently running a fever that's making him feel as if he's spent the whole day running or fighting, not doing reconnaissance out in one of the suburbs of D.C. He closes his eyes again and lets his head drop against Sam's shoulder, takes in the warmth of his partner, and turns his face into Sam's shoulder when Sam makes a sound of sympathy. 

"You've probably been working up to this for a couple days," Sam says. "Does it usually come over you like this, though, all at once? 

Steve nods, and he knows he's not going to have to do any more explaining. Maybe Sam doesn't understand everything, but he understands enough, and Steve can tell by the way Sam relaxes against him and starts rubbing Steve's shoulders. He leans in to press a kiss to Steve's shoulder, then kisses him on the cheek when Steve sniffles and coughs and droops against Sam. 

"You don't need to make a fuss about it. I can sleep it off in a day or so." Steve doesn't move away from the touch, though. God, he's not even sure he could move away, it feels amazing to be this close to somebody when he doesn't feel good. 

"Sure, I don't need to. But I'd like to. Here," he says, pulling away from Steve to get tissues from the box and handing them to Steve when he sniffles a few times in a row. 

Steve nods his thanks and holds the tissues in both hands in front of his face. He does his best to muffle back the next pair of sneezes, though he still ends up coughing and blowing his nose a few times over before he's done. It's noisy and messy, and every time he sneezes he ends up feeling even more congested than he did only a minute ago. When Sam has to hand him more tissues, Steve draws back so he's not so close to Sam. 

"Ugh, I'm sorry, you're probably going to catch this..." Steve swipes his nose against a couple clean tissues and gives Sam what's probably a bleary, snuffly sort of apologetic look. 

Sam shrugs. "Well, maybe. Look, Steve, if you'd rather I left you mostly alone, I can do that. I'm starting to think that's not what you really want, though. Yeah?" 

Steve glances aside, and then back at Sam. "I don't like being alone when I don't feel good. I hate being sick." 

"You're not going to be alone. I can do that for you." Sam puts his arm back around Steve's shoulders and hugs him close and tight for a moment. "What else helps? Tea? Soup? Those horrible old movies you make me watch when you can't sleep...?" 

"I don't _make_ you watch them. I never force you to stay..." 

"Oh, yeah? Giving me the big puppy dog eyes and trapping me on the sofa and calling it 'cuddling.' That's not cuddling, by the way." 

Steve coughs into the crook of his arm and then rests his head back against Sam's shoulder. "I think I need something for the fever, nothing else..." Worry flutters in his stomach for a few seconds, leftover anxiety from previous illnesses, and probably the fever itself magnifying his worry. Now that he's letting himself, he can tell he's running a temperature, from the shivering that comes over him every so often, and the woozy feeling invading his senses. 

"Right, a couple ibuprofen. What about the stuffy nose?"

"Tea? Cold medicine doesn't do much for me, metabolizes too quickly," Steve says. He gives Sam another grateful look when he hugs him around the shoulders again."If I let you pick out a movie, will you sit here with me?" 

Once Steve asks the question, once he just asks Sam to sit with him and stay close to him, it doesn't seem like such a difficult or great thing to ask. Just as it wasn't so hard to let Natasha drive him home, so too is it becoming easier to ask Sam to stay with him when he's exhausted, or when the bad dreams are too much, or, now, when he's in the middle of some absurdly violent head cold.

"I guess I could be persuaded. You're going to fall asleep on me no matter what, and I'm not going to want to get off the sofa and wake you up, so I might as well make myself comfortable." 

"Thanks, Sam. You're good to me."

"Yeah, I got you." Sam kisses Steve's forehead, and nuzzles into his hair, talking quietly to him for a few minutes, before he decides Steve needs something for his fever. 

When he eventually gets up, Sam fetches Steve a hoodie, and even watches Steve until he puts it on, and then brings him ibuprofen and a cup of hot tea. When he's seen Steve swallow down the tablets, he leaves to change out of his work clothes and to start preparing something for dinner. 

Even this would be enough, Steve thinks, to have Sam home, to listen to him walking around the house, the muted clatter of dishes and silverware in the kitchen, television or music on in the background while Steve falls into a doze on the sofa. It would be enough for Sam to walk by every so often to touch his hair or to stretch a blanket over Steve, to give him juice or water when he forgets to ask for it himself. 

But Steve's sick, and being sick makes him want to forget all the other times he's felt lonely or cold, and he easily settles into having Sam sit with him on the sofa. They end up watching something with a lot of explosions and car chases, and Steve can't really keep track of the movie, but Sam explains to him what's happening each time he asks, and strokes his hair until he dozes off again. 

"Did you want dinner?" Sam asks when the movie's done and Steve has to sit up fully to blow his nose. "Chicken and rice?" 

Steve shakes his head, coughs, blows his nose again, and then promptly sneezes loudly at his shoulder when he tries to get himself more tissues. When Sam starts to bless him, Steve rests one hand on Sam's leg to tell him to wait, and holds his other arm up to his face so he can shudder out a couple more throat-scraping, stomach-tensing sneezes. He's a mess of coughing and snuffling afterwards, and Sam massages his shoulders and hands him tissues for a good few minutes before Steve can say anything. 

"Thank you... pardon me for ... for all that..." His voice is raspy from the cold and from falling asleep, and clearing his throat doesn't have any audible effect. 

"You're good, you're just sick. Here, babe..." Sam hands Steve his half-finished glass of orange juice when the coughing starts up again and urges him to drink all of it. He has Steve finish the juice, and some of his water, and lets him lie back down on the sofa instead of sending him off to bed. 

"Let me know if you need anything else? Or if you want to get in bed."

Steve nods against Sam. "I'm fine, but I'll do that." 

The bed's probably more comfortable, Sam's right about that, Steve knows, but this is nice, this what being home feels like, Steve decides. He'll go to bed when Sam goes to bed, and he'll take some medicine in the hopes he doesn't wake his boyfriend up during the night. 

But this is enough, the warmth and security of knowing he can fall asleep on the sofa and whenever he wakes up, he'll have whatever he needs.


End file.
